


The "Who The Hell Is Bucky?" Job

by dionysus_bound



Category: Captain America (Movies), Leverage, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Amnesia, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-14
Updated: 2015-11-14
Packaged: 2018-05-01 08:26:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5198981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dionysus_bound/pseuds/dionysus_bound
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Winter Soldier spent two years on his own, trying to get his memory back through full-frontal assaults on secret HYDRA installations. During one such raid he meets a Hitter, a Hacker and a Thief who decide to take him on as a client.<br/>Before he knows it, he's watching them bicker like children, eating gourmet pub food and teaming up with the Avengers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The "Who The Hell Is Bucky?" Job

_Born in 1916, Barnes grew up the oldest child of four. An excellent athlete who also excelled in the classroom, Barnes enlisted in the Army shortly after the attack on Pearl Harbor. After winter training at Camp McCoy, Wisconsin, Barnes and the rest of the 107th shipped out to the Italian front. Captured by Hydra troops later that fall, Barnes endured long periods of isolation, deprivation and torture. But his will was strong. In an ironic twist of fate, his prison camp was liberated by none other than his childhood friend, Steve Rogers, now Captain America._  
  
Reunited, Barnes and Rogers led Captain America’s newly formed unit, The Howling Commandos. Barnes’ marksmanship was invaluable as Rogers and his team destroyed Hydra bases and disrupted Nazi troop movements throughout the European Theater.

 

He understood the words, but they made no sense. Not in the context of a familiar face etched on the display next to it. The slightly younger version of the face he saw reflected in the glass.

James Buchanan Barnes

It meant nothing. Not any more than Captain America calling him Bucky.

Yet something deep, buried beneath a mountain of darkness and ice, stirred. Flashes of things that felt completely disconnected. From each other and especially from him.

Falling. Soldiers. Cold. Zola's smug sneer. Pierce directing him to murder people and telling him it was a 'gift to mankind.'"

Hands curled, teeth clenched. He was not the Winter Soldier anymore. He would not be doing anyone's bidding ever again.

But he sure as hell wasn't Bucky Barnes, either.

The question was, just exactly who was he?

He had no idea. And standing in a museum that said he died 75 years ago wasn't going to get him anywhere.

 

*

 

He went back to the beginning. Brooklyn. At least, where history books say his life began. But it told him nothing about who he was. Who he'd been. There were no answers in the unfamiliar streets and buildings.

He knew there should be more in his head. Memories. Emotions. Hurts and joys and dreams and disappointments.

Other than the few random, meaningless images, the only thing in his head was the stuff HYDRA put there.

Every time they'd woken him up, they'd implanted information he needed to cope with the world changes from his last activation along with the mission parameters. The mission and memories associated with it were wiped before putting me back into the cold, but they left his general knowledge of the world intact.

However, that general knowledge included a list of safe-houses, HYDRA assets and cover companies. Places and people where he could 'check in' if he ever got separated from his handlers.

If those safe-houses and cover corporations were prepped enough to deal with him showing up unexpectedly, then they probably had access to more information about him. For the first time, a flash of something that might be satisfaction slipped through him. Whether or not they had what he needed, he was going to make them regret giving him the skills to take it from them.

 

*

 

Eliot dropped further behind the fragrant dumpster and wrinkled his nose. Trying to not breathe, he muttered, "Hardison, wasn't there any place else to rendezvous?"

"Well, you could have hung out in the lobby and made small talk with VirtualTek's night watchman but I thought discretion might be better when we're breaking and entering with intent to steal trade secrets— Hold on, Parker. What are you doing?"

"I found the super-secret, super-encrypted stuff on the server, just like you said. Now I'm downloading it. It's a lot bigger than we expected, though. It'll take a couple of minutes to get it all."

Alarms blared from inside the building, Eliot tensed, and all three of them shouted through the earbuds at once

"What's going on?" Eliot demanded.

"I didn't do it," Parker said calmly.

"Sensors are going off all over the building," Hardison squawked, then his breath evened out. "But not anywhere near Parker. There's someone else in the building."

"Parker, get out of there. Now!" Eliot shouted, knowing she wouldn't listen but trying anyway.

"Forty-five more seconds—"

"Parker," he growled, but Hardison talked over him.

"You'll need to take the secondary route out because, whoever is in there, they have the security running in circles, and your primary escape is blocked."

"No problem. Thirty more seconds."

"Damn it," Eliot growled and headed for the back door, knowing the guards would converge  on it to trap the intruder inside. Even if Parker made it out the secondary route, there'd still be a second or two where she'd be in the line of fire. It was his job to make sure that didn't happen.

Right on time, three guards burst into the alley, the first one didn't even get a chance for his eyes to adjust before he hit the ground. The other two, however, weren't quite so easy. No ordinary rent-a-cops.

"Eliot, what's going on? What's happening?" Hardison demanded in a rush of panicked works.

"Little busy, Hardison."

He caught the swinging baton on his forearm and knew there was going to be a bruise. Pissed, he punched the guard square in the face. Then a second time, because he could.

"Next time, I sit in the nice, safe van half a block away and Hardison gets beat up."

The last guy came at him, and Eliot side-stepped, giving himself a second to catch his breath.

The back door slammed open again. Another guard came tumbling out, stopping only when he slammed hard into the wall of the neighboring building. He was followed by a guy in leather, long hair obscuring his features. Five more guards flooded out behind him. The man turned, smiling with feral glee as he waited for them to close in before taken them on.

Eliot finished off the guard he'd been tangled with and turned. Only two of the guards remained facing the stranger, and it didn't look like they'd last much longer. The guy in leather was amazing. Eliot leaned against the wall, enjoying the sheer poetry of the man's movement while he tried to figure out the style. There was something about it he couldn't quite place. Russian, KGB maybe, and a mix of modern martial arts, but also something older. A backroom brawler style that looked like something out of an old war movie.

 A movement at the corner of the building drew Eliot's attention. Another security guard slid around the wall, gun up and leveled at the back of the stranger's head. Eliot had no idea what was going on, but he wasn't going to let anyone get shot in cold blood on his watch.

He bent down to snatch the baton of the closest unconscious guard and twirled it, testing heft and balance. Satisfied, Eliot threw it full force. His aim was perfect and hit the sneaking guard square between the eyes. Eliot watched him drop with a satisfied grin. The stranger finished the last of his opponents then turned to face Eliot fully. He saw the gleaming metal arm and apprehension shivered like ice through his confidence. He'd heard the stories but hadn't believed them. Shadowed eyes measured him and Eliot curled his hands tight. If this particular man decided he was a threat, the outcome wasn't going to be pretty.

Parker landed with a thud between, waving the flash drive with one hand, while unhooking her rig with the other.

"I got it. Let's get out of here if you're done beating up the poor guards."

She didn't even notice the man in leather, but he'd tensed as soon as she dropped into sight. He shifted his weight and Eliot sprang into action.

Stepping in front of Parker, Eliot put himself between her the stranger. The man stepped closer, threat in every movement.

"Parker," Eliot said with deliberate softness, belying the rough edge violence rising inside him. "Get out of here. Get to Hardison and go. I'll catch up later."

"What? Eliot, no."

He heard the too familiar sound of her un-holstering her Taser. The thought of what would happen to her if she got close enough to use it made him choke.

He took his eyes off the threat for a second to glare at her. "Parker, go now. He's too dangerous—"

"He's gone."

"What?"

He whipped his head back, but the alley was empty of everything but unconscious guards.

"Where'd he go?"

"Don't know," she frowned and tilted her head. "Who was that?"

"That? That was a ghost."

 

*

 

James knew he'd been sloppy.

But as soon as he'd broken into the VirtualTek lab, he'd known he'd been there before. Remembered hazy, drug covered pain as lab-coated sadists did things to his mechanical arm. Upgrades or a replacement, he didn't know and didn't care. For a second, white hot fury had blinded him to his purpose, and he'd smashed the nearest table. Blaring alarms had whined to life immediately, shaking him back to reality. His momentary lapse had cost him stealth and probably any chance to get information. He needed to get out before anyone with real HYDRA clearance found him.

Twice, in his ransacking of various HYDRA safe-houses, he'd nearly been taken. Fail-safes built into his head and his body had allowed agents to temporarily stop him. He'd managed to savage his way out, both times shaking the programming with sheer, painful determination. But they'd been close calls, and he wouldn't chance there were more unexpected triggers lying dormant inside him. Once he was fully free of HYDRA conditioning, he'd come back and destroy every outpost that remained.

Now, in the bright light of day, little more than twelve hours after fighting his way out, he searched through a completely empty building. Every office, every lab, every break room, had been empty and scrubbed of anything resembling human occupation. Any information that had existed in this location was long gone.

But there had been others here. James remembered the blond girl triumphantly waving the flash drive at the merc who'd been waiting for her. He should have stayed, should have taken the thieves out and recovered whatever they'd stolen. But the man had saved him, even though it had been unnecessary. He'd known the guard was approaching, had one hand on his own weapon and good grip on the man he was fighting. A quick twist would have turned the guard into a human shield and given him a perfect head shot. Still, he supposed, it was the thought that counted.

And he was trying to leave killing as a last resort. Not to mention limiting the collateral damage and keeping innocent bystanders out of his personal vendetta.

More than anything, though, it was the way the man held himself. A fierce protectiveness had flattened his eyes and echoed in every muscle when he put himself between James and the girl.

James… missed that.

The need to shield and the knowledge he was covered in return. Even though he didn't remember having it. Somehow the memory of the feeling was there, a warm curl around his heart that had stopped him from going after them.

Now, though, he had no choice. Everything he'd found so far had led him to this place. The fact that he actually had a memory of being there made the likelihood even stronger that VirtualTek had information he could use.

And last night's thieves had a drive full of VirtualTek data.

Over the past couple of years, James had slowly built up a network of underground connection to help him on his quest. It was time to use those informants to find out who had the skills and the balls to successfully infiltrate a HYDRA shell.

 

*

 

Eliot lounged at the outdoor cafe across the street from the Leman, Leman, Keye & Marks law office. He smirked and raised his coffee in silent salute as Kelly Keye was led out of the building in handcuffs by a combined DEA, FBI and IRS task force. Next to him, Parker waved innocently while Hardison was busy wiping his fingers smugly through the whipped cream of his half-caf, coconut milk, non-fat mochaccino.

Keye's eyes bulged when she saw them and a foul torrent of curse words spilled out of her mouth before she was pushed into the waiting SUV.

Hardison had only managed to decrypt a small portion of the data they'd recovered, but it was enough to highlight her illicit dealings with VirtualTek. Combined with a recorded admission of guilt they'd tricked her into making and the paper trail of her crimes, it was enough to send her away for a long, long time. They'd also managed to recover their clients lost savings and reputation in the process, which was the real win.

Finished with their gloating and coffee, the team headed back to the pub. Eliot was working on a new special for the menu and wanted a few more test runs before he introduced it. He was trying to decide if he should switch out rosemary for thyme when Hardison dragged him to back to [HQ].

Hardison dramatically flicked on the screens. "So I managed to dig a little more information out of VirtualTek's encrypted files. Those weren't run of the mill creeps last night. They were—"

"HYDRA," Eliot interrupted offhandedly, his mind still half on the pros and cons of various herb combination. Hardison gave him a flat, incredulous look. Eliot scowled defensively, "What? They have—"

"A very distinctive way of getting punched in the face. Whatever. You could have shared that with the class last night."

"Sorry. I was distracted by actually having to punch people in the face. Not to mention the blaring alarms you were supposed to make sure didn't sound."

Parker ignored their squabbling and randomly pushed buttons on Hardison's remote, then poked Eliot in his still tender forearm.

"Hey. That's that guy. The one who looked like he might actually be able to kick your ass. You never said how you knew him."

Snarling at her, Eliot tucked his arm protectively under the uninjured one. She had a knack for find the most painful spot.

"I don't know him. I didn't believe he existed. He's just a rumor. The bogeyman story for special ops guys to tell around the campfire. He's a myth."

"A ghost. That's what you called him last night."

Hardison snatched back his remote and flipped to a collage of images. All of the same man. In vastly different settings around the world. And in vastly different time periods of the past century.

"Your ghost. The Winter Soldier," he paused dramatically to gesture at the screen. Then he flashed a smug smile at Eliot. "Hah. You didn't think I'd connect that, did you?"

Eliot scanned the pictures, ignoring Hardison's gibes. "Better if you hadn't. He's dangerous. And way out of our league."

Except, from the stories Eliot had heard, the Winter Soldier wouldn't have left any witnesses alive, let alone the guards he'd been fighting. He'd seen the same doubt and regret and lifetime of pain in the man's eyes that he saw in his own every morning. It looked nothing like the conscious-less, soulless man in the pictures Hardison had uncovered.

"Yeah, well, it looks like he used to be a HYDRA puppet but cut himself loose around the same time SHIELD imploded. Seems he's been harassing them ever since. There's a capture or kill order on him."

Eliot flipped through the limited info, but there wasn't much detail in what Hardison had been able to tease out of the secure files.

"Do we need to be worried? About him or HYDRA?" Parker asked.

"Not on the HYDRA front," Hardison reassured her quickly. "The chatter says they think it was all Winter Soldier last night. No one saw you and the guards assumed Eliot was hired muscle for backup. I don't know about Eliot's ghost, though."

"I don't know. This is the guy I heard stories about. I mean it's the same guy. The arm is…" Eliot's lips curled around the word distinctive, but he swallowed it back when he saw the amusement and expectation on Hardison's face. "Unique. The arm is unique. But this wasn't the way he operated. No witnesses would have survived a Winter Soldier attack."

"So he's like you," Parker said. "He's changed and working for good now. I mean, if he's trying to take down HYDRA, he must be."

Eliot let the comparison slide and shrugged his shoulders. "Or he's trying to get them before they get him. Either way, he's not our problem. If he wanted us dead, he'd have done it last night. If there's nothing else new, I'm going back to the kitchen."

He left Parker and Hardison bickering. Trying to decide if their next date would involve the latest sci-fi blockbuster or casing the new rare gems collection at the museum. Shaking his head at their ridiculousness, Eliot was still happy they'd found each other. That they could share everything, good and bad, about each other was a rare gift few people got.

Eliot knew he'd never find it. The burden of his past wasn't something anyone should have to shoulder with him. He turned toward the kitchen, but the image of the Winter Soldier frozen in the center of the screen caught his eye. He grimaced at the shiver that crawled up his spine.

Haunted and hunted. Eliot felt for him. Had been there, himself, once upon a time.

Instinct he'd long learned to trust said the assassin was no danger to him. More importantly, he wasn't a threat to Parker and Hardison. So Eliot wouldn't risk changing that by trying to find a man who didn't want to be found and offering unwanted help. Even if there was something itching inside of him to do just that. Toby and Nate, in their own ways, had each given him a lifeline to a better way, a chance. As much as he wished he could give the same gift to the Winter Soldier, he would not endanger the family who'd given him his own second chance.

Pushing those thoughts away, Eliot rummaged through fridge and pantry for ingredients, still debating the merits of various herbs in his head. He tasted the roasted chicken and nodded in satisfaction, decision made.

"Rosemary. Definitely rosemary."

Of course, he'd used the last of the herb from his own garden in the stew yesterday.

With a sigh, he put everything back and grabbed his jacket.

"Hey, Amy, I'll be back in a few. Don't let Hardison eat my stuff.

The second he stepped outside Eliot felt a familiar itch and he knew. He paused on the sidewalk, eyes hard on the traffic. After a second of contemplation, he decided there was no point in hiding is awareness. Eliot looked up, eyes scanning as he calculated angles and weather and sight-lines. Once he knew what spot he'd have picked under today's conditions, he turned to face the rooftop fully. He stared at the spot, though he couldn't see anything from the street. Then he waited.

And waited.

Eliot hadn't intended to go looking for this. But it found him. Sometimes, the universe smacked you in the face with your fate.

He stood still for another two minutes. No bullet ripped through him, but the sense of being targeted didn't waver, either. Finally, out of patience, he tilted his head to the door and waved with exaggerated invitation. Then he walked back inside the pub, took off his jacket and headed back for the kitchen.

 He'd send Amy out for the rosemary.

 

*

 

James watched through the scope as the man from last night walked out of the front door of the pub. It was surprising how quickly he'd assessed the situation and focused on the sniper's nest James had chosen. He was impressed that the man stood stock still and knowingly offered himself to an open shot.

He was even more surprised at the obvious invitation. Training and condition made James suspect a trap, though experience insisted it didn't feel like one.

His contact had managed to get him little more information than just an address and rumors about this team. White hats using black hat methods. Or maybe they were black hats somehow caught up in white hat crusades.

"They help those screwed by the system screw back," his contact had said.

James considered his options, methodically breaking down the rifle while keeping an eye on the area. A waitress left and returned with a shopping bag. A couple more patrons entered. No obvious signs of an ambush. Then again, if he'd been baiting a trap for quarry with his skill set, he'd make sure there were no signs, either.

It didn't matter, one way or another. What he needed was inside. The instincts he was only beginning to recognize, let alone trust, urged him ahead.

The bar was bright and warm. Plenty of space between tables to maneuver, if need be. James noted the possible exits and took a seat. The booth kept his back to the wall and gave clear line of sight to both the door and the man from last night. He was behind the bar, now, hair pulled back in a ponytail and a bar towel over one shoulder as he chopped and arranged something on the plate in front him. The man looked up, made eye contact in acknowledgment before going back to what he was doing.

The waitress he'd seen earlier passed by, smiled at him uncertainly before glancing at the bar and continued on her way without speaking to him. Which suited him just fine. He was here for information, not to sample the local cuisine.

James waited, feigning a relaxed posture while taking in every camera, exit, window, patron and potential weapon or threat in the place. Five minutes after he walked in, the merc finally came out from behind the bar carrying a plate and a full pint glass. He set both down in front of James then slid into the opposite side of the booth.

James stared at the plate, then lifted his eyes to stare flatly at the man across from him. The merc just raised his eyebrows and widened his eyes. His smile was a little defensive, though when he crossed his arms and leaned in.

"Try it. It's a new recipe. Roasted chicken Panini with spinach, sundried tomatoes and rosemary aioli. Pairs well with the Belgian Saison. Thinking of making it the special tomorrow."

It… looked good. Smelled even better.

James couldn't remember the last time he ate something for any reason other than to fuel his body. Couldn't remember the last time he wanted to.

Yet…

"Oh, for—"

The man reached across grabbed half the sandwich and took a bite, following it up with a couple of chips. The he washed it down with a healthy swallow of the beer.

It didn't mean anything, of course. There were ways to build up immunity to drugs and poisons. But James knew his enhanced metabolism would probably protect him. And now that he'd let himself dwell on the delicious scent, he wanted to try it.

With careful, controlled movements, he took a small bite. Despite James's effort to contain his reaction, his eyes widened and flicked across the table.

All the tension eased out of the man's shoulders and he leaned back against the booth, smile shifting from uncertain to smug. Arrogance, amusement and satisfaction sparked in his eyes. For the second time that day, Bucky found himself interested in something he'd thought he hadn't been allowed to notice in… a long time.

"Good, right? It's the rosemary."

James grunted in agreement and continued to eat. He allowed himself to enjoy the meal but everything else need to get pushed to the side. He had a goal. Nothing else could matter until he'd accomplished it. He did slow down a little, though, and savored every bite.

When he was done, he sat back gave a tiny nod of his head, acknowledging the effort and skill.

"I'm Eliot, by the way," the man said, though he didn't offer his hand. "Eliot Spencer."

James looked hard at Eliot, eyes locked while he considered his own response. He'd acquired a dozen aliases over the past couple years. Somehow though, he found himself wanting to offer the truth.

"James."

He wasn't feeling quite so reckless as to offer the whole thing, however. Eliot smiled anyway. Then he stood up and gathered the empty dishes. Took a few steps then looked back with a frown where James still sat. "You comin'?"

James eyes narrowed and his body settled into a hyper-aware mode. He followed though. Eliot's posture remained relaxed as he led the way into private area of the building, but James had no doubt that he was just as mindful of the tension. Not to mention the possibility of things spiraling out of control, with one wrong move on either side.

 

*

 

Eliot knew James was tense with suspicion behind him. He also had no doubt the assassin… Former assassin?… James. James probably had a half-dozen weapons on him. One wrong move and this would devolve into violence and chaos. Hardison and Parker were back here, and, if necessary, Eliot would protect them from the Devil himself. Going against the Winter Soldier would only be a little more difficult.

 Still, he tried to stay loose and outwardly unconcerned. At the same time, on the inside, he stayed alert and primed. It was a delicate balance and frustrating as fuck. He preferred situations he could punch his way out of.

A quick glance at the grim-blank expression James wore made Eliot think he felt the same way. That made Eliot smile and relax a little more. It was oddly reassuring to see his own instincts reflected in someone else.

Hardison's eyes bulged as soon as he caught sight of James following Eliot into the HQ, then stared at the metal arm with an embarrassing mix of terror and curiosity. Parker's eyes widened, then narrowed thoughtfully. Eliot just prayed she didn't try lifting anything off of James. All those hidden weapons would look like challenged to her. He arched an eyebrow of warning, and she lowered hers in answering irritation. He shook his head in a short, sharp, quick movement. She pinched her lips, crossed arms and glared at him.

Eliot let out a slightly longer exhale and smiled in triumph.

Then he turned to find James looking back and forth between them. He'd no doubt caught the exchange and suspicion tightened the lines around his eyes. Eliot just rolled his eyes, smirked and shrugged. Surprisingly, that seemed to relax James, and he took the seat next to Parker, who looked at him like a shiny new toy.

Hardison, clueless as always to the subtleties around him, continued to stare in disbelief at the Winter Soldier. When James stared back, Hardison jerked his chin and his eyes darted away, looking everywhere but in the Winter Soldiers direction.

"Eliot, can I have a word?"

His voice was strained and he was walking away as fast as he could without running.

Eliot and Parker exchanged an amused eye roll before Eliot followed him into the work room.

"What is he doing her?" Hardison demanded, voice rising with every syllable and hands flying in emphasis. "We had an understanding. You don't bring Vicki Vale into the Batcave."

"Vicki Vale? Really?" Eliot looked over back to where James sat tensely next to Parker. He had to admit the man was good looking enough to be compared to a Hollywood love interest. Dark hair and somber eyes were intense and hypnotic. His body, built for deadly purpose, was hard and strong and beautiful.

The night before, even facing a fight with him and certainty of quick but painful death, Eliot had had viscerally noticed how attractive James was. In a deadly, competent, life-threatening way.

It's possible Eliot's libido may have been screwed up by his years in Black Ops.

"He's not Vicki Vale. He's a client."

"A cli—" Hardison choked off and pressed a fist to his lips before giving Eliot disbelieving stare. "A client?"

He twisted his head to look over at their guest. James was showing Parker a particularly nasty looking knife. Her eyes were bright and wide, like a kid at Christmas as she carefully examined it and fired off question after question that he answered patiently.

Eliot didn't know whether to be proud of her knowledge of deadly weapons or unnerved at how quickly she'd found something in common with the Winter Soldier.

Hardison looked decidedly unnerved.

" _That_ is not a client, Eliot," he hissed quietly. " _That_ is a world renowned killing machine."

" _He_ has excellent hearing," Eliot said, gritting his teeth with the effort not to throttle Hardison.

They both looked back to find James staring directly at them, emotionless mask back in place. Next to him, Parker scowled meaningfully at Hardison. Apparently, they'd bonded over deadly weapons.

She patted James on the shoulder and he tensed. Eliot shifted his weight in response, prepared to throw himself on the grenade to protect Parker. But James just frowned in bemusement and watched her stomp over to the workroom.

"We're taking this job, Hardison," she emphasized her proclamation with two sharp pokes to the chest that made Hardison winced.

"I don't even know what the job is," he whined. Eliot let a smile curve slightly. Parker's eyes glimmered with triumph. When Hardison got that tone, he'd already accepted he'd lost and was just arguing out of habit.

They all turned to look at James, who blinked at them. For the first time, emotions actually shifted across his face. Confusion, uncertainty, bewilderment.

"I'm not here to hire you. I want the data you took from VirtualTek."

"Why?"

Eliot was pretty sure if anyone but Parker, in her inimical way, had asked the question James wouldn't have answered. And that would have been the best case scenario.

But Parker managed to express pure curiosity, in a way no one else could. There was no judgment in her question. No feeling of ulterior motive, or prying for advantage. It was nosiness for nosiness sake. Somehow, even the Winter Soldier seemed to get that.

"They took something from me. I want it back."

"Oh, then you're definitely a client. That's what we do. Steal stuff back."

James looked at Eliot, conveying the 'is she for real?' sentiment everyone eventually felt around Parker. Eliot knew, though, it would take more than Parker to convince someone like James to trust them. To let them help.

Eliot really wanted to convince him.

"Give us a minute," he said quietly, talking to Parker and Hardison though keeping his eyes focused on James.

Of course his team protested, he wouldn't have expected anything else. He didn't bother to argue with them, gave them a stony glare and jerked his head toward the door.

They left reluctantly, still protesting when Eliot shut the door behind them.

He took a breath then moved to stand in front of James. He kept his posture open, using every trick Sophie had ever taught him. He wasn't trying to scam James, but he wanted to make it clear he was sincere. And sometimes the tricks of grifting worked better than his own tendency to close himself off.

"Look. I get not trusting anyone. I was there for a long time. And they," he waved toward the door, where they both knew Hardison and Parker were probably shamelessly eavesdropping on them. "Take some getting used to. Let me tell you what we know. You can decide how much more you need to share."

With a deep breath, he went over what Hardison had already found on the drive.

"We know HYDRA had you for a long time. That they did some kind of experiments on you that made it possible for you to…" Eliot wanted to shy away from the reality of the situation, but James wasn't going to trust him if he couldn't put aside his own issues to put all the cards on the table. "To assassinate various figures across decades. My guess would be advance cryo. If that's the case, I'm betting it wasn't exactly voluntary. We know, somehow, a couple of years ago, they lost control of you. And that you've been a thorn in their side ever since."

James was incredibly still, head tilted slightly, face blank and giving nothing away. He stared unblinking back at Eliot. None of that belied the rigid way James's body poised on the edge of action. This could get really dicey, really fast. Which was the reason Eliot wanted Hardison and Parker out of the room. But he'd started it and he was going to finish it.

 "The rest of the data is still encrypted. You need to get someone like Hardison in order to read the data, anyway."

He exhaled slowly and took a couple of steps closer.

"We'd like to help if you let us."

 

*

 

They knew enough to be dangerous. James should burn this place to the ground and get away as fast as possible. But he didn't want to.

And that… That was a very new, very disconcerting experience. From the moment he walked away from HYDRA, his life had been a series of target, plan, execute. Evaluate new information and start over. He wanted is memory back. Wanted a life.

For the first time, he wasn't looking in a straight line. He was looking around him. Noticing things that meant nothing to his goal. Like the silent way these three communicated without even realizing it. Like how they'd built a weird little family out of obviously less than wholesome backgrounds.

There was a photo in his pocket. One he'd ripped out of a library history book. Bucky Barnes and the Howling Commandos posing for the camera.

He didn't remember any of the men in the photo. Didn't know anything about them but what had been written in the book.

There was feeling, though, when he looked at the picture. A sense of comfort and camaraderie. Something he missed, without remembering ever having it.

The feeling made no sense out of context, but he thought about it. A lot. He only remembered being a pawn. Then being alone.

This team. This weird little family reminded him of that feeling.

And Eliot was right. He'd have to trust someone to decrypt the files for him. Did it matter if it was someone he was paying, someone he was threatening, or someone who offered to help? They'd already figured out half of what he'd expected to find on the drive, anyway.

Eliot stood silent and patient, no expectation or impatience in his stance while he waited for James to figure it out.

This wasn't Steve demanding something he couldn't give.

Wasn't HYDRA using a part of him he couldn't understand.

When he looked at Eliot, he saw a man offering a hand. Because he'd already had his own hard climb out of hell.

James settled his hands on the table in front of him and stared down at the foreign metal fingers that still didn't quite feel like _his_.

"Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes," he said quietly. He heard Eliot inhale slightly, but that was the only reaction. "I don't remember it, though."

Eliot nodded, surprise obvious in the way he stared at James. Questions evident in the way his lips twitched and stopped a couple of times before he finally spoke.

"Let me get Laurel and Hardy back in here, then we can figure this out."

Eliot didn't move more than a foot away before Parker pushed through the door, Hardison hard on her heels.

James told them more than he intended once they settled around the high table. About Steve. About Pierce and HYDRA and what he'd found since he'd left. About the complete blank where his past should be.

"So that's our mission then," Parker said, leaning back with satisfaction. "Were going to steal his memory back."

"Steal his— I can't hack a brain, Parker," Hardison muttered.

"No, but you can hack the rest of the drive you've been playing around with," Eliot said, crossing his arms and glaring.

"Playing? Playing? You think I've been playing?"

Eliot raised an eyebrow, looking faintly disappointed. "Well, you haven't managed to unencrypt it yet, so…"

"Unencrypt? Really?" Hardison threw his hands up and stalked over to the end of the table where he'd left his tablet, muttering the whole way. "All this time and these people still have no idea what I do."

Eliot smirked as soon as Hardison's attention zeroed in on the gadget in his hands and Parker mirrored his expression. James's own lips twitch, but he forced himself not to react to the unexpected amusement welling up inside of him.

"Great. I'm hungry," Parker announced. "How 'bout some jalapeno poppers?"

Hardison looked up, expression a little too innocent for all the irritation he'd been exuding a moment before. He looked directly at Eliot when he said, "Yeah, I think there's still a box from Value!More in the freezer."

Eliot's smirk shifted into shock and horror. Hardison raised an eyebrow in triumph then went back to work.

"Oh, good. Can I microwave them?" Parker bounced out of her chair and headed for the kitchen before anyone answered.

Eliot was on her heels, talking over her about freshly picked peppers and artisan cheese.

James followed them half-way, but he'd scoped the building out thoroughly. Before. He turned a corner away from the kitchen, found a half-hidden stairwell and escaped to the roof.

 

*

 

The roof was quiet and gave a decent view of every possible angle of attack on the pub. James sat on the edge, legs dangling, reviewing every movement, every moment, every choice he'd made since deciding to lower his rifle and walk into the pub.

He still wasn't sure he _wanted_ help in this. But he also found himself uncomfortably okay with all of them. It was all a bit too much for a man who mostly remembered trusting no one but himself. A man who'd spent the past few years alone by choice and circumstance. He'd avoided Captain America even though he recognized the face. Even though, he'd felt a like he knew the man on a deep, visceral level. Why was this different?

The door to the roof opened behind James and his hand went to his concealed Glock. The footsteps were deliberately loud yet careful and slow. James dropped his hand, a little surprised at how quickly he'd relaxed when he recognized Eliot's distinct movement pattern. In the past, he'd have had to wrestle the instincts to attack into submission. Or would have just given into them. Somehow, after only a few hours, Eliot no longer registered as a threat. Which was worrying in its own way.

The footsteps stopped about three feet away. Close enough to have a conversation, far enough not to be a threat. Or to be threatened.

"Eliot," James said, acknowledging his presence without turning around. "Making sure I didn't disappear?"

Eliot sat next to him on the ledge, still leaving a foot between them but eating into the buffer zone and silently handed him a plate full of something deep fried.

"We took the job," Eliot said with a shrug, looking out at the view around them. "We don't quit. Whether you're here or not, we're going to find what we're looking for."

Eliot tilted his head, smirk in place and eyes sparkling. "Then Hardison will track you down and Parker will steal you."

Quiet settled seamlessly around them, and James studied the man next to him while he ate. Everything he'd observed about Eliot screamed soldier. The way he moved, the way he fought, even the way he sat still. He had a readiness and awareness about him, poised to strike, even at his most relaxed. James knew it meant it would take someone really, really good to take him by surprise.

Something Parker had said while examining his knife had stuck with him, though. It was none of his business. He had no reason to ask. But James couldn't seem to ignore his new-found curiosity when it came to Eliot.

"Parker said you don't use guns."

Eliot tensed then forced himself to relax so fast, most people would have missed his reaction. James was hard-wired to notice weakness and opportunity, though.

"Nope," Eliot drawled the word out a little, staring up at the stars. "I don't."

James waited, but Eliot didn't seem inclined to say anymore.

"You zeroed in on my perch pretty fast."

Eliot shrugged, but there was a flash of something haunted in his eyes when he half smiled at James. "It was the best vantage point."

James stared at him, went over everything he'd cataloged about Eliot since the first moment in the alley. It didn't take long for pieces to fall into place.

"You're like me. An assassin."

"I _was_ like what you _were_ ," he growled, stressing the past tense. "I killed. For my country. For an ideal. To protect."

Eliot dropped his head, but he didn't close his eyes. Didn't try to hide the riot of emotion storming inside him.

"Then I did it for reasons that got muddier and muddier. Until I had no idea why I was doing it at all."

"But you stopped."

Eliot hesitated, then said softly, "Mostly. Those two, down there… They're family. I _will_ protect them. No matter what."

His quiet words held a hard edge. His posture had gone hard and tight and offered no compromise.

For a second, the feeling of fierce protectiveness echoed strongly in James. The memory of a scrawny boy, bloodied but unbowed, facing a bully twice his size flickered across his consciousness.

It was gone before he could grab hold of it. Examine it. The angry protectiveness and fierce pride remained, though.

James didn't remember family. But he remembered how family felt.

"Yeah," he agreed, exhaling slowly to ease the sudden tightness clenched around his chest.

Somehow, they'd ended up close enough to press their shoulders together. James considered shifting away, but he didn't want to. Touch for comfort's sake was alien to him. Not something he'd ever had. Not something he'd craved or even thought about.

Now, though, there was something about having the warmth of Eliot pressed closely against him. Something he didn't want to move away from just yet.

He'd just couldn't let himself get too used to it. Nothing about his life was certain.

 

*

 

A burst of static exploded in Eliot's ear, and he jumped before recognizing the sound. No matter how many times he yelled, Parker couldn't seem to break the habit of blowing in her earbud before putting it in.

"Damn it, Parker. That hurts."

"Sorry. Hardison thinks he's got something, though, so you guys should come back down."

He hadn't told her was going to the roof, but he wasn't surprised she knew.

"Yeah, okay."

He turned to find James staring at him, head tilted casually, but his mouth twisted down into a suspicious frown.

"Personal comms?"

"Yeah. They weren't on, earlier. I'd have taken it out if they had been. That conversation was private."

Eliot held his breath, but after a moment of consideration, James nodded and stood up.

"Time to go, I'm guessing."

"Yeah, Hardison found something."

Eliot watched James turn and head for the door with a sliver of regret that their time alone was being interrupted. Ridiculous because they hadn't even been talking.

Hardison was already set up, and Parker had a giant bowl of popcorn in front of her. Eliot shoved his hand in the middle of it on his way by, scattering kernels all over her and the table. She glared at him and tried to smack his hand, but he smirked and danced away before she could reach him. Revenge for the insult of frozen jalapeno poppers earlier. He slid onto his chair and caught James's scrutiny. Eliot didn't know how to explain the way affection and irritation became all twisted up in the heart after a while. Instead, Eliot held out his hand and offered James some of the purloined popcorn.

"Why do you keep feeding me?" James asked, but took a couple of kernels. He popped them in his mouth then took the seat next between Eliot and Parker.

Eliot had no idea how to answer that. Food was tied up with so much, now, he had no idea how to untangle it all when it came to James.

Parker waved her hand and answered with her mouth full. "Eliot feeds everybody. It's how he says 'I love you.'"

Eliot blinked at her, then ducked his head without making eye contact and decided to forget he heard that. Instead, he growled at Hardison to get started.

"I think I've managed to dig out all the information on the WSP that Parker downloaded from VirtualTek. What we have, so far--"

"WSP?" Eliot interrupted. "What the hell is WSP?"

"Winter. Soldier. Project. I'm trying to be sensitive."

Next to him, James snorted. Eliot felt the twitch forming at his eyebrow.

"Anyway," Hardison continued. "As best as I can tell, from what we have, is they were powering the mind-control machine with an experimental battery left over from World War II. Original HYDRA stuff."

He clicked his remote, and the screen changed to show a glowing blue cube. "It was the last of apparently a bunch of stuff they had powered with something called the Tesseract. The Tesseract itself was lost around the same time Captain America stopped Red Skull and ended up in the ocean."

They were close enough that Eliot felt the way James's body went stiff and still. His mind might not remember, but something inside him reacted, anyway.

Eliot pressed his knee against James's leg in silent support. James surprised him by pressing back a little, and taking a deep breath, letting his expression move from blank indifference to blank acceptance.

"…they apparently lost the machine and the battery in the DC disaster. Again, thanks to Captain America. They really hate that guy—"

"Get on with it," Eliot growled.

Hardison huffed but kept talking. "So even though they've been searching for James, they have no idea what they're going to do with him when they get him back. They've been scrambling through old research trying to figure out how to do a mind-whammy without their broken toys."

"So they can't mess with his head anymore, but we can't get his memories back, either?"

"Not so fast," Hardison said and shook his finger at Eliot. The screen changed again to show a grim-looking fortress.

"HYDRA doesn't trust itself much. VirtualTek was spying on this guy." Another screen flipped to show a picture of a bald guy with a monocle. "Wolfgang von Strucker. Who apparently somehow got hold of the scepter Loki used. They discovered from his research that the gemstone in the scepter seemed to have a lot in common with the Tesseract battery they lost. They were planning to steal it from him but the Avengers apparently got there first."

"So we need to steal a jewel?" Parker asked around a mouthful of popcorn. "Piece of cake."

Hardison rubbed the back of his neck and grimace. Another screen flipped to show news footage of the Avengers. "Not so much. This is mostly conjecture on VirtualTek's part, but they're fairly confident that somehow, the gemstone ended up in Vision's forehead."

The footage paused on an image of all the Avengers. Eliot glanced over, and James was staring hard at the frozen image of a smiling Captain America with his arm around Falcon.

"Okay. So then we steal the robot," Parker smiled and bounced a little. "I've never stolen a robot before."

"It's not a robot, _he's_ an android," Hardison corrected.

"What's the difference?"

Eliot tuned out the pairs bickering and focused on James. Ducking his head closer, he asked quietly, "You okay?"

Eyes still glued to the screen, James answered, "I know him. I don't remember anything about him. But I know him."

Eliot didn't have to look to know James was still focused on Captain America.

"He thinks he knows me. He remembers Bucky. But I'm not Bucky. Even if I get my past back, I don't think I'll ever be the man he knew."

"None of us are who we used to be. We all carry around decisions and choices and things we want to take back. Which is harder to live with? Knowing who you were and not being him anymore? Or never knowing at all?"

James wrenched his eyes away from the screen and stared at Eliot. "If you could wipe out your past, would you?"

A hundred different moments flash across his thoughts. Moreau more than once.

But he knew the answer without even having to think about it.

"No. Forgetting those moments would mean not having any idea how precious what I have now is. It would disrespect the people I hurt. And worst of all, it might mean I'd make those same mistakes all over again."

James nodded, eyes still glued to the screen in silent contemplation.

"It wouldn't be stealing, Parker. It would be kidnapping."

The argument snatched Eliot's attention back to the job at hand.

"Whoa. We are not kidnapping anyone."

"Thank you," Hardison flashed his 'I-Told-You-So' look, and Eliot almost regretted agreeing with him. "We can't kidnap Vision. So we need to talk to Captain America. He was your friend, right? Can you get to him?"

He turned to James expectantly, and Eliot wanted to punch Hardison. Or let James do it, considering the way he gripped the table edge in a white-knuckled hold. Instead, he leaned his shoulder into James.

"Our last meeting… wasn't friendly," James answered with a curt, dark curl in his voice.

"What's that mean?" Hardison asked with a frown. Parker smacked him and hissed about Hardison's insensitivity. If it was any other situation, he'd be amused. But not this. Not now.

"Hardison, why don't you figure out how to draw Rogers away from the rest of the Avengers? I'll worry about the talking to him."

"Sure, I'll just hack into a _Stark_ security system."

Eliot ignored the sarcasm, knowing it would piss Hardison off more than anything flippant he said in return.

"Good. Let me know when you've got something." He stood up and squeezed James shoulder, nodding his head toward the exit. "Let's go talk."

Outside, Eliot made a decision he'd never even considered before. With only a brief moment of trepidation, he led James out of the pub and toward his own apartment. He had no doubt the rest of his nosy team knew where he lived, but he'd never actually told any of them. Halfway there, he finally broke the silence.

"We don't have to do it this way, you know."

"You got another mystical rock lying around somewhere?"

Eliot gave him a half-smile and shrugged. "They seem pretty thick on the ground. Have you tried hypnosis? I have a friend who's pretty good at it."

James rolled his eyes and tucked his hands in his pockets. After a few more minutes of quiet walking, James surprised Eliot by breaking the silence.

"My last orders were to kill him. To kill Captain America. Steve. Don't let me hurt him."

Eliot's heart contracted painfully. He wanted to reach out but recognized the taut fragility of James's posture. Instead, he answered from the heart and made a promise that might get him killed to keep.

"I won't let you hurt him."

 

*

 

Hardison spent three days carefully seeding possible sightings of Winter Soldier on the internet. Then Parker arranged an incident involving ice cream, a rerouted train and a manic skunk to draw the Falcon away from his place perpetually glued to Captain America's side.

Eventually, however, Eliot found himself confronted by Steve Rogers alone in an abandoned service station in the middle of nowhere. Facing the seething super-soldier in an empty garage made Eliot think they might have gone a little too far in the meandering scavenger hunt that led them here.

"I'm tired of playing games. Where is he?" Rogers demanded, stepping close enough that Eliot would normally have given him a reason to step back. But this wasn't about him, so he forced his fists to unclench and just lifted his chin. He didn't look over to the dust covered window obscuring the stations office but gave a minute shake of his head, knowing his team would understand he didn't need their interference. Hardison, Parker and James stayed concealed inside, but the chatter in his ear was getting less and less patient. He needed to get Rogers to listen to him before someone did something Eliot was going to regret.

"You're not his mission anymore." Rogers froze, body stiff and eyes rounded with uncertainty but remained wary. Eliot forced his posture relax more and added. "James said to tell you that."

"James?"

The confusion was a vast improvement over barely contained violence, and Eliot shrugged.

"He doesn't remember being Bucky. He's not the Winter Soldier anymore, either. So, James."

"Who are you?" The wariness returned, frustration resonating and in his voice.

A burnable alias sprang to the tip of his tongue, but he surprised himself by saying, "Spencer. Eliot Spencer."

"Why'd you lure me here?"

"We think there is a way to possibly get his memory back. We need your help."

"Why are you the one asking? Why not Buck—James?"

"Because he's not Bucky. He's not who you want him to be. And he's not a hundred percent sure he's completely shed his programming."

Eliot hesitated, but then pulled out his earbud and tucked it away where it wouldn't pick up any sounds.

"I think he remembers enough to _want_ to be Bucky again, though," he said quietly, careful to pitch his voice so it wouldn't carry to the office where James and the others hid. "Enough that he doesn't want to risk hurting you, in case he's wrong about being completely free of HYDRA's influence."

Cap opened his mouth but, before he could speak, the garage door rattled. Both he and Eliot turned toward the noise, dropping into fighting stances that were surprisingly similar. The door whooshed upwards, slamming open with an echoing bang.

Falcon, Scarlet Witch and Vision swooped in, looking battle-ready and spoiling for a fight.

"Fuck," Eliot muttered. He turned toward the office, regretting taking out his earbud. "Don't—"

He didn't even fully get the word out, and it was already too late.

James crashed through the filthy window, a gun in each hand. Parker, close on his heels, leapt after him, Taser ready. Hardison stumbled out, with a netbook in one hand and wrench in the other.

Eliot would have groaned in embarrassment if an all-out brawl wasn't imminent.

He whirled to face his team, twitching at turning his back on a threat. But then Rogers slid behind him, and the two of them stood back to back and shouted at their teams until everyone stood down.

Once peace was temporarily restored, Rogers decided to treat the ridiculous situation like a social event and perform introductions.

"This is my team. Falcon, Scarlet With and Vision. And this is Eliot Spencer and… James," Rogers stumbled, the B forming on his lips before he caught himself and used the right name. His attention lingered on James for a heartbreaking second, though, before turning expectantly toward Eliot's crew.

Parker started to introduce herself, but Hardison slid in, talking over her.

"We prefer not to give unnecessary information," he said caustically and stared hard at Eliot.

Eliot returned the glare with a smirk and said, "That's Parker and Hardison."

The smirk became a full grin when Hardison threw his hands up in frustration and muttered to himself.

Ignoring their bickering, Rogers's attention focused back on James.

James kept his face carefully unchanged, eyes hard and frowning grimly when he stared back in defiance. Rogers sighed and turned back to Eliot. "What can I do to help?"

Eliot winced, recognizing the desperate need to _do something_ underlying the question.

"Uh, actually, we need him," he answered apologetically and waved toward Vision.

Startled, the android stepped forward. "How can I be of service?"

Eliot explained about the Tesseract—mind gem—Vision connection they'd cobbled together

"How did you find this information?" Rogers asked. Behind his back, Hardison shook his head and waved his hands, gesturing for them to deflect the question.

"Hardison found it," Parker said with a shrug, ignoring Hardison's huff of frustration. "He's good at hacking into places he doesn't belong."

"Do you have any information on the original machine used to alter James's memories?" Vision asked and Hardison pulled out his netbook. They started looking at the decrypted files and discussing how to dig up more information. Wanda, Sam and Parker gathered around to get a better view of the tiny screen.

Steve, Bucky, and Eliot were left standing off to the side, uncomfortable tension humming between them.

"So, uh, James. Any urge to kill me?" Rogers finally asked

"No."

"Good. That's good."

After that, awkward silence seemed preferable to awkward conversation.

"So we need to break into another HYDRA facility?" Parker's gleeful question broke the growing tension and Eliot was relieved for a nanosecond. Then he groaned. His bruises had just finished healing from the last time.

 

*

 

James was up high with his rifle. Once again providing cover for Captain America, who was doing his best impression of a one-man-wrecking crew at HYDRA's front door.

Of course, all the noise and fury and chaos was nothing more than a distraction while Eliot snuck in through the back door. Parker had pouted when the plan was made. Eliot doing the stealing this time made her professional pride twitch. Even with the massive distraction Steve provided, this job was less about stealth and skill and more smash-and-grab.

Over the comm in his ear, Parker and Hardison bickered about the best path through to their target.

"But if he goes in the vent on the east corridor, he can completely avoid the security station."

"Parker, I don't know if you've noticed, but his shoulders are twice as wide as yours. If he goes in that vent, he's going to be stuck well before he gets to the 90 degree turn into the maintenance closet above the vault. Eliot, you need to take the west corridor and circle around—"

"No, that's going to add at least 45 seconds—"

"Hardison, what is the most direct route to the vault?" Eliot cut in sharply.

"Well, straight through the central corridor and down the center staircase. But that takes you right past the main security station, and I don't have a visual inside. I can only get the corridor. They may have left someone—"

"Got it."

Eliot's abrupt growl was followed by the sound a metal door banging open. A few seconds later, some shouting and heavily booted running filtered through Eliot's earbud.

"Oh, yeah. They left a few someones behind. What the hell does HYDRA feed these guys?" Eliot muttered. "Hardison, how much real estate between me and the stairwell? And can you lock it down once I'm through?"

"About twenty feet. And of course I can lock it down? Who do you think you're talking to? It's the age of the geek, baby and I'm king of the… Wow, Eliot, those are some pretty big dudes. Maybe Parker's vent idea—oh, never mind—"

The solid thud of flesh colliding with flesh came over the comm and James grinned, relaxed as he listened to Hardison's play by play and kept an eye on Captain America through his scope. So far, Steve hadn't needed his help.

"…nice sliding kick. Watch out—ooh. He's going to have a headache. Oh, the guy you kicked is getting back up."

"Just shut up and unlock the damn door, Hardison. I'll be ready to go through it in fifteen seconds."

James wished he could see. He'd have to remember to ask if Hardison kept a copy. Watching Eliot fight was like watching an artist at work. Sparring with him the past few days had been like dancing.

One of HYDRA's goons got a little too close to Steve's unprotected back and Bucky squeezed the trigger. The shot hit clean, going straight through the shoulder and dropping the brute in his tracks.

It still felt weird to avoid kill shot. But that's not who he was, anymore.

"Got it," Eliot announced gleefully in his ear. "Now how the hell do I get out of here?"

"Come out the front, Eliot," James answered cutting off another round of Hardison and Parker bickering. "I'll clear a path."

Throughout the whole fight, he'd only been taking a shot here and there, enough to keep the squad coming at Cap one or two at time instead of all at once.

The point had been to distract the majority of security away from what Eliot was doing. Now, James let loose a volley of rapid, deliberate shots, taking down the squad and giving Cap and Eliot a way out. While making sure there were no fatalities.

As soon as the front of the building was clear, James made his way down to the rendezvous point. He sat next to Eliot in the van and looked him over silently.

There was a fresh bruise on his cheek. One hand wrapped protectively around his ribs though he didn't even seem to be conscious of it as he handed the retrieved gizmo over to Hardison.

James had to squash unexpected urge to run his hands over Eliot, to check every inch of skin and muscle for damaged.

Instead, James curled his fist close, cocked his head and asked quietly, "Anything broken?"

"Naw," Eliot grinned, revealing a small slit at the edge of his lips. A hint of blood welling up that James wanted to brush away. "Just a little battered. Some ice and a beer, I'll be all good."

The smile, though, was bashful and real. Not the usual reflexive smirk. Then he turned back to argue with Hardison about the plan, or lack of one.

Once Hardison and Parker climbed in front and the van started moving, though, Eliot's exhaustion was a little more evident. He tilted his head back, resting it against the side of the van, closed his and let his breath out on a quiet, slow exhale. James shifted a little closer on the bench and Eliot slumped into him. Acting on pure instinct, he slid his real arm between them and around Eliot's back, pulling him in a little closer and offering silent support.

James felt his own body loosen a little, leaning on Eliot. He felt eyes on him and looked over uneasily where Rogers sat next to Hardison's computer setup. His expression shifted through a complicated kaleidoscope of emotions. Surprise, hurt, hope, relief and approval.

James didn't need or want any of that from Rogers. But part of him, maybe some deep, lingering remainder of Bucky, was relieved to see it.

He dipped his chin down, in a brief, sharp nod of acknowledgment then let himself enjoy the feel of Eliot pressed close.

 

*

 

Bucky wasn't all that surprised when Eliot found him sitting on the roof the Avenger's facility the next morning. Apparently he was getting too predictable. A liability in his old life. Now, though?

He had no idea what his life would be in a few hours.

Eliot stopped next to him, looking out at the view.

"Vision thinks he has the gizmo figured out."

He let the words hang there for a minute before finally looking down at James. His eyes were guarded, but there was hint of the same uncertainty James was feeling.

Then Eliot forced a smile and offered his hand.

James let Eliot pull him to his feet. They both held on a little longer than necessary before heading down to the training room.

After having seen the experiment footage Hardison had retrieved, and James reaction to it, the medical bay was ruled out.

The training room was full when they arrived. Everyone standing around, waiting. James stopped at the door, a couple of steps behind Eliot. He pauses a minute to take it all in. He forced himself to breathe. In and out. Slow and deep.

"You ready?" Eliot asked, shifting to put himself between James and the rest of the room.

James forced his shoulder back, standing straight and unflinching when he met Eliot's eyes. Carefully not looking beyond him to the various expressions of expectation waiting for him in the room.

"Not sure," he answered honestly.

Last night he'd been amused by Parker and Hardison. Concerned and relieved and comfortable in a way he hadn't examined too closely with Eliot. He'd even found a moment of peace and acceptance with Rogers. Steve.

He was happy. Something he'd never striven for or expected. At least not since being made into the Winter Soldier.

Getting his past back was going to change everything.

He forced himself to really see the people he'd come together to help him. Parker and Hardison excited yet concerned. Vision quiet and ready. Steve, hopeful, terrified, and resigned. Sam pressing close to him, looking worried and uncertain.

Almost exactly the way Eliot was looking at James.

He wanted back what HYDRA and the Russians stole from him, but everyone in the room had a hand in this moment. Had a stake in it. He wasn't the only one looking for closure, here.

No matter what choice he made in this moment, he'd be risking something. But if he didn't at least try, he knew he'd never be whole.

Meeting Steve's eyes, he experienced that quick kick of almost recognition again. Whether he remembered their friendship or not, he felt it sometimes. They both deserve more than that.

But there was the possibility that he'll lose who he's become. He'll lose the past few days with Eliot.

Ignoring rest of room, James gripped Eliot's shoulders and pressed their foreheads together.

For a moment, he considered kissing Eliot but that seemed unfair, not knowing how he'd feel. After. Instead, he whispered. "Thank you."

He meant for more than just all the work of helping gather the pieces to retrieve his memory. It was for helping James unlock the sealed parts of himself that kept him aloof and alone after HYDRA.

Unsurprisingly, he got an eye roll in return, but Eliot's hands gripped his bicep tight, squeezing back with hard, unspoken emotions of his own.

When he was sure they understood each other, James straightened up and forced himself to let go. Without looking back, he crossed the room and sank down on chair across from Vision.

Every muscle in his body tightened when the android set the device on his head, and he had to wrestle down the urge to fight his way out of the building. It wasn't the same, he reminded himself. But way too close for comfort.

"Ready?"

James was really getting tired of that question. He doubted he would ever be ready for what came next.

"Do it," he snarled. Vision didn't hesitate. There was a quick curl of _something_ tickling through his brain. Then the device came to life and roared in his ears.

Pain came first. Sharp and spiking. Then something cracked open in him, and he was drowning in the flood of memories. One after the other. No rhyme or reason.

War. Steve. Death. Hope. Pain. Triumph. Falling. His family. The Howling Commandos. The train. It went on and on. Childhood and battlefield, Brooklyn and Europe, fighting and playing in the streets all jumbled in together.

His past, before he died, came into sharp focus, swirling in between the memories of the presence overwhelming everything. Bits and pieces of the intervening years, dark vignettes of nearly a century scattered and disjointed. It all became a psychedelic whirl of color and experience he couldn't escape.

Eventually, though, he found himself again. Became aware with his face pressed to knees, hands over ears. A soft keening sound escaping from his throat.

"James. James, I'm going to remove the device now."

Hands gently pulled at something that ruffled through his hair. Pressure and tension receded, and he felt like he could breathe again. Swallowing hard, he looked up at the red guy gripping a strange contraption made of wire and metal. Looked past him to the room full of strangers. There was nothing familiar. Nothing he recognized. No one he knew.

Except…

"Steve."

The name escaped him before he even realized he knew it.

"Steve," he repeated, filling the word with relief and gratitude.

He was up, on his feet and moving without thinking. Steve met him halfway, wrapping him up in an unbreakable hug. They hung on, tight and unwavering, neither of them wanting to let go.

 

*

 

Eliot watched from the corner, forcing himself to remain still and silent in the shadows. His fists curled at his sided, though, and his body clenched, fighting against the need to rush forward. To put himself between Vision and James. Hardison and Parker leaned into him from either side, silently offering him support he'd never admit he needed in that moment.

But watching James grit his teeth against the pain. Watching the slow tremble become uncontrollable shaking. Listen to the cries become something desperate and eerie. It was one of the harder things he'd ever had to do. He wanted to make it stop. To protect and save James. To punish those who hurt him. But all he could do was stand by and watch.

Then James jerked forward, covering his head like he was attempting to escape whatever went on in his brain. The sounds he made full of anguish so deep and raw it tore through every shred of control that Eliot had left.

Parker and Hardison were ready and steadfast on either side of him. They held on to his arms and talked fast and frantic. He didn't hear the words through the haze of protective fury, but eventually he understood the underlying reassurance. Remembered why they were there. Why he can't interfere.

Finally, it ended.

Vision spoke to James in low, soothing tones, carefully removing the device before stepping back to give him space.

James lifted his head slowly. Looked lost as he glanced desperately around the training room. His eyes skipped, blank and unrecognizing, over everyone in the room. Skipped past Eliot like he was a stranger.

Then he caught sight of Captain America. The pure joy of Steve's name on his lips was intense. The pure relief in the embrace they shared was radiant.

Eliot forced the tension out of his body, one muscle at a time. There was nothing, no one, to fight. No reason to. Parker and Hardison let go of his arms reluctantly, still watching him warily.

He glared at them trying to convey that he was fine. Happy, even.

Parker arched doubtful eyebrows at him. Hardison just crossed his arms behind her.

He was happy, damn it. Really.

They did their job. Did it well.

If he'd experienced a momentary burst of loss when James didn't recognize him, well…

That was over.

Eliot had lost a lot in his life. Lost things that he could never reclaim.

James was alive. And he'd gotten back what had been taken from him. Eliot had wanted James to be able to find some contentment and peace. And it looked like he finally had that. Eliot wasn't so selfish that he'd wish away James's…

Bucky's?

That he'd wish away anyone's recovery.

He gave Parker a tight smile and punched Hardison in the spot guaranteed to get a yelp.

"Okay. Job's done. Let's head home."

"But, Eliot…" Parker said uncertainly, glancing back to where James and Steve talked quiet and fast. They still had their hands braced on each other's shoulder. Almost exactly the way James had gripped Eliot less than an hour before.

His lips twitched, and he couldn't hold onto the forced smile.

"Time to go, Parker."

He didn't wait. Didn't acknowledge her protest. Didn't argue. Just turned on his heel and walked out the door. He didn't look back to where his team stood, still hesitating. Certainly didn't look back to where James didn't notice him leaving.

 

*

 

Bucky kept his hands on Steve, grounding himself in the moment. In the memories of his best friend. They talked, speaking at the same time yet still hearing each other clearly. Everything, all at once rushing between them. Remembering the past, reveling in the joy of reuniting, treading in the anger and sadness at what was lost to them, sharing guilt for all the things he'd done while he'd been lost to himself. Trying to convince Steve he had nothing to feel guilty for. Eventually, his brain started to settle.

Everyone and everything else faded into the background until the red guy… Vision he finally remembered. An android. Until Vision stepped up to them apologetically and asked how he felt. What he remembers.

Bucky remembered the war, and before, clearly. He knew what happened to him in the last two years. In between, everything is blurred and jagged. Dark and sharp and incomprehensible.

It almost felt like different people fought for space in his head. Bucky and the Winter Soldier and James all sliding around each other in a vicious cycle. But it was starting to shake out. He remembered clearly, now, how he got here. And who he had to thank for it.

His breath caught and he jerked his head up, searching the room for Eliot and his team.

Heart lurching in his chest when didn't see them, he stepped away from Steve scanning the exit and trying to calculate the most likely route to finding Eliot.

Steve furrowed his brow and opened his mouth, but Vision seemed quicker on the uptake.

"Once they realized we were successful, your friends seemed satisfied and departed."

Gone.

Because Eliot was done with him?

Or because Eliot thought James was done with him?

And he was James, again. Still. He was Bucky, too. And he'd never be completely free of the man who'd been the Winter Soldier. But all the pieces of his past and present were slotting back together. And that whole was simply James. The man who'd wanted to kiss Eliot before he regained himself. And the man who still wanted to kiss him now.

He started for the door, then hesitated between one step and the next, glancing back at Steve. His best friend raised an eyebrow and smiled indulgently.

"Go on. You're alive. You're not a soulless assassin. You have your memory back. It's all I wanted for you. I'll be here whenever you need me. Right now, I think you need someone else."

James stepped back gripping Steve in another quick, gripping hug then he raced out of the training room.

Outside, Parker and Hardison were getting into the front of the van while Eliot loaded the last of their stuff into the back. James saw Eliot's shoulders tense as soon as he stepped out of the door. He slowed his pace but didn't stop.

When he got closer, Eliot carefully closed the van doors then turned, face a careful mask of cheerfulness. James recognized the smile. It was the one Eliot used on marks that hid everything but what he wanted them to see. He'd seen it several times when they'd been conning and scheming to get closer to Steve.

James stopped moving then, the few feet of space feeling like a sudden gulf. Unsure what to say. Uncertain what he even wanted to happen.

He forced himself to speak anyway and tried not wince when all that came out was, "Hey."

"Hey."

Not a great start. But he wasn't giving up.

"Leaving?"

"Yeah. Well, the job's over."

The casual brush off would have hurt, but he saw the lie in Eliot's eyes. In the way his posture was taut with an energy that suggested he was barely holding himself together.

Suddenly confident in the answer, James asked, "Just another job?"

"No," Eliot said, the word short and sharp like the admission had been torn out of him. But he stayed by the van, stubbornly looking past James. "No. Not like any other job."

"Good."

James crossed parking lot fast, crowding Eliot up against the side of the vehicle, hands fisted in the soft fabric of his shirt to hold him in place.

"Good," he repeated in a whisper. Their bodies were pressed together but Eliot could fight, could push James away, if he wanted to.

Instead, Eliot relaxed against him. Unafraid. Trusting.

James's hands shook, but he loosened his grip and slid one hand down to Eliot's waist. Eliot grabbed his hips, tugging him even closer, shifting until their mouths crashed together. For a moment, it was a battle of teeth and lips but the pleasure was sweet and heady. The kiss slowed into a languid savoring that left him warm inside, where once he'd thought he'd be frozen forever.

Eventually, James eased back to stare intently at Eliot. Needing to see for himself that the were on the same page. The satisfied smirk was all the answer he needed.

"Wanted to do that before… before."

"Why didn't you?" Eliot asked.

"It seemed unfair. Not knowing what I'd be, who I'd be. After."

Eliot nodded in understanding and James was relieved he didn't need to explain it. Not sure he could find the words.

"What now?" Eliot asked.

"Thought I'd spend a few days with Steve. Then, thought maybe your team could use another hitter."

Eliot looked over James's shoulder, at they facility behind him. They both know Steve would try to find a place for him there. They both know it wasn't the right kind of place for him.

"The pay sucks. Long hours. Hard work." Eliot glanced over his shoulder to where Hardison and Parker were pressed against the van window. "NO privacy."

"The foods good, though," James said thoughtfully.

Eliot laughed and James kissed him again.

He'd never be the man he'd been before the war. Never have the life he'd expected to live. He couldn't find it in himself to regret it, though. The life he'd found was pretty damn good.

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for Marvel-Bang.


End file.
